


Khronos

by wolfcloaks



Series: Somnum Somniare [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Dream Sharing, Flashbacks, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Multi, Multi linear Time Lines, Omega Stiles, Other, Size Difference, Soulmates, Time Travel, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 03:41:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10608570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfcloaks/pseuds/wolfcloaks
Summary: He can't exactly alert the authorities.What's he supposed to say?Sorry about the late call but a burglar managed to scale the ten stories leading up to my apartment and I ended up dry humping them in my bed.Laura'll never let him live it down.





	

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Says they'll continue the series in March, finally posts near the middle of April*
> 
> Hello again, here we have the latest installment in the series, present day takes off about a year or so after Wrapped ended. Reading Wrapped first is recommended but not strictly necessary, you'll probably end up a bit confused if you don't though, fair warning.
> 
> I want to give a major thank you to my brilliant, wonderful, motivating beta, [Nour](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nourhelal8/pseuds/nourhelal8), without him there quite literally wouldn't be a fic, he's been overwhelmingly supportive and helpful and kept me (somewhat) sane through this whole process. 
> 
> Hopefully you enjoy and let me know what you think!

**_Flashback (Three weeks earlier)_ **

 

Katherine looks contrite, eyes downcast, hands clasped firmly behind her back. She’s every inch of a child caught with their hand in the proverbial jar.

 

Stiles doesn’t buy it for a second.

 

A pointed look from Derek is what propels him forward, arms outstretched to accept the emissary’s peace offering.

 

The urn itself is unremarkable, polished oak, a smooth-edged weight that settles into his palms.

 

It lacks much of the opulence you’d expect for a Greek god, least of all _Father Time_ himself and Stiles can’t help but feel a little cheated.

 

 _Plutus must be spinning in his grave_.

 

He thanks the Salvatores regardless, hoping his expression conveys equal quantities of ‘all is forgiven’ and ‘try this again and I’ll have your head’.

 

Their answering smiles, if they could even be called that, are strained at best, but he still considers it a win.

 

As Derek and Silas conclude the meeting, he busies himself with studying the box, noting a faded silver inscription on the bottom.

 

It’s obviously Greek, but that’s as far as he gets, Indo-European languages are more Peter’s forte.

 

He makes a mental note to call the beta as soon as they’re back in Hale territory.

 

The Alphas are shaking hands now, the universal sign for _meeting adjourned_.

 

Thank goddess, he's exhausted.

 

Not hexing Katherine into the underworld always takes a lot out of him, his husband should be grateful for his restraint.

 

“You owe me dinner. No kids. No Lucan. Just us. I want that roast you made for our anniversary.”

 

Derek has the grace to look fond, mouth twisted into a smirk, “Anything else, your highness?”

 

“Well…”

 

He never does manage to call Peter, dinner, as it turns out, isn’t the only thing on the table.   

 

**_Present Day_ **

 

“Careful you two,” Stiles calls out heatlessly, half focused on the herbs in the grinder before him.

 

His free hand darts out to balance the cluttered end table to his right.

 

With his back still turned he manages to avoid a crash. It requires a fluidity that can only be described as parental ease.

 

As he swivels to face the culprits, dual pairs of saucer-like eyes blink up at him, bright and impossibly big in their contrition.

 

_No fair._

 

He groans, powerless against the sudden onslaught of cuteness.

 

Pausing the restorative for the time being, he bends to scoop Gaia into his arms, doling out a smooth stroke along Lucan’s fur as he passes.

 

The one year old garbles excitedly, happy, as she always is to have her father’s attention.

 

Chubby fingers latch onto his collar, toying with the fabric as he peppers kisses across her skin.

 

“I thought we agreed to only use those eyes on _Daddy_ , Gaia girl, _we’ve_ gotta stick together.” Stiles says, all faux seriousness as the cub hangs onto his every word.

 

Her little mouth is mimicking the shape of his own as he speaks, head tilted stiffly in concentration.

 

She’s every bit of Derek when he’s working through something particularly frustrating.

 

It all comes down to that Hale intensity, heterochromatic eyes framed by expressive brows.

Angelic features offset by the fire blazing underneath.

He can’t help but hold her a little closer, humming softly as he presses more kisses to her mole dotted skin.

 

He cradles a hand against the chestnut curls covering her head, wrapping the other along her back. It acts as a safeguard, keeping her steady as he breathes in her scent.

 

She’s still got that new baby smell, fresh and a little powdery, sweetened by the peaches from her breakfast.

 

There's a citrus-y tang indicative of earth magicundercutting it as well _._ It's faint, like most residualmatter and likely stems from playing with Lucan.

 

Most of all, she smells of family.

 

Of _StilesandDerekandCub,_ as all their children do; cinnamon and oak, vanilla and pine, an amalgam of scents coalescing to form that of _home_ and _security_.

 

It’s a scent he’ll never tire of and he does his best to commit it to memory.

 

He savors the moment, the feel of this tiny creature in his arms, his baby girl born of love and birthed through magic.

One of four who depends on him for any and everything, who cries whenever he leaves the house and wakes him up at three in the morning; screaming with lungs that would make Phelps jealous.

 

The dull throb of her ever welcome weight, the cooling whisper of spring air, sweet and fragrant as it gooses along his flesh.

 

The chorus of giggles filtering through his workshop’s open window, muffled by distance but ever present.

 

The soundtrack of _alpha squared_ , Derek and Taila, both in full shift, taking turns entertaining his three remaining children in the backyard.

 

Every chirp and hum, every gentle breath puffed into his neck, every speck of pollen.

 

All transcribed and forever saved in his neurological scrapbook, pristine and vibrant, ready whenever he should recollect.

 

A reverberating crash is what shatters his stolen peace.

 

It’s startling enough to jostle Gaia in his hold, eliciting a whimpering cry as she voices her confusion.

 

He takes a few steps back, maximizing the space between their bodies and the now toppled stand.

 

“Hey, it’s okay moondrop, it was an accident, baby girl, Luc didn’t mean to startle you. Promise.”

 

Said wolf whimpers in response, trotting around splintered wood and broken glass to lick apologetically at the flustered toddler.

 

His tongue catches on her toes and she shrieks with laughter. Tiny hands and feet kick out wildly, narrowly avoiding the Familiar’s muzzle in the process.

 

_Crisis averted._

 

Until the patio door bangs open-

 

 _Or not_ ;

 

He braces himself with a wince, preparing for what will no doubt be a panicked husband.

 

Gaia tilts her head like before, ears straining toward the sound of her Alpha’s footsteps,

 

“Da-da?” She questions, eyes flickering between Stiles’ face and the open doorway.

 

Derek appears moments later, fangs dropped and crimson eyed; sweatpants hanging loosely off of his well-defined frame.

 

It’s quite the sight.

 

Stiles walks toward his mate with a deliberate calm, mindful of both the mess and his husband’s frazzled nerves,

 

“It’s alright, Papawolf, nothing serious, GG is fine, we both are.”

 

He hands Gaia over easily, knowing that despite the reassurance Derek needs to see and smell it for himself. He needs to be sure that one of the pack’s most vulnerable members, _his cub_ , is safe.

 

After a thorough father-daughter nuzzle and sniff test, Stiles walks toward the pair, happily settling in for a check-over of his own.

 

Once Derek is satisfied, he presses a kiss over the fang-sourced indentation of Stiles’ mating mark, a silent apology for overreacting.

 

“How about you take this little bean, wrangle up the rest of the terrors and we can head over to my dad’s for lunch? I just need to clean this up first.” Stiles says, gesturing to the mess around him as he leans into the press of lips.

 

Derek nods his affirmative, settling Gaia on his hip as he surveys the scene, “That’s perfect actually, he’s been meaning to talk to us both; the Salvatore’s emissary is manipulating the ley lines again.”

 

Stiles fixes him with a scowl, “You should've just let me drain Katherine when I had the chance. It's bad enough that she spent most of our last meeting simpering over you, but now she's started up with this shi- _stuff_ again. It's not an apology gift if you do the same thing a month later.” He says, gesturing to the now broken urn.

 

The Alpha rolls his eyes, “First of all, siphoning magic with ill intent is illegal, which you should know because _you made the law_. Second, she wasn’t flirting with me, I was showing her the kids’ birthday pictures!”

 

The Omega huffs, waving a dismissive hand, “Exactly, husband o' mine, _ill intent_. A magic-free Katherine would bring the world one step closer to peace. Just because you’re oblivious to your charms, doesn’t mean I am. All the soccer mom’s want a piece of that; the next time I see her, it's on.”

 

For lack of a better response, Derek shakes his head, smirking when Gaia mimics the action, “See? Even your daughter thinks you're being ridiculous, besides, you don't see me threatening their Alpha whenever he's near you.”

 

Its Stiles turn to roll his eyes now, snorting as he shoos the pair out of his work-space, “Did you forget our first meeting? Silas kissed my hand and you threatened to rip his lips off and shove them up his-”

 

“Let's go see what your brothers and sister are doing, Gaia girl!” Derek cuts in, an octave shy of unaffected.

 

He hastens his retreat, steadfastly ignoring the rising chorus of his mate’s teasing.

 

***

 

“Well, I can’t say I’m mad at you, I’ve always hated this thing.” Stiles says, regarding Lucan as he gathers the bigger pieces of the urn off of the floor.

 

The indents of the inscription reflect off the bay window's invading light and he’s reminded of his prior mission to translate the text.

 

Unfortunately for him, Peter is in Norway, dazzling the masses with his superior intellect.

 

_More like avoiding sleazy grad students and raiding the open bar. But who is Stiles to judge?_

 

He salvages what he can and focuses his attention on the ashes, they’ve somehow managed to blanket every crack and crevice of his polished floors.

 

With a sigh, he begins to sweep, stopping every so often to rub the foreign dust between his fingers.

 

As always, it’s his curiosity that does him in.

 

He brings the ashes closer, going near cross eyed as he angles the portion in front of his nose.

 

_Oh shit._

 

One robust sneeze and the particles rise, higher and higher, forming a plume that envelops him in a opaque mist.

 

The breeze from the open window only serves to encourage the spread, amplifying its strength 'till all he can see is a vast darkness.

 

_Fuck, he's tired._

 

_Cleaning can wait 'till later._

 

_Yeah. Later's good._

 

_Nap first._

 

Lucan stops his body from crashing against the floor.

 

***

**_Past_ **

 

The body next to him smells divine.

 

It's an intoxicating mix of vanilla cream, cinnamon, and the woods surrounding his childhood home. Spicy and oh so sweet, all tempered by the lavender lull of magic.

 

Derek pulls the person closer, delighting in their pliancy; the way they allow him to wrap around them. How he can cage them between sturdy thighs, aligning their bottom halves in the most delicious way.

 

His dream lover -he knows he went to bed alone last night, _like every night-_ grinds back against him, slotting his thick girth between their cheeks.

It catches the tip of his cockhead against the fabric bunched over their rim and he growls at the tease.

 

He clutches tighter, broad fingers spanning out to tilt their head back. It gives him the perfect opportunity to mouth over the smooth column of a slender throat.

 

The man, his wandering hand helpfully supplies, tangles their fingers together, assisting him as he rubs against their cotton covered length.

 

His lover huffs in frustration, _impatient,_ releasing his hold to shove their underwear down. They moan in unison, relishing at the first contact of skin against skin.

 

It's this touch that shocks him awake, the very real feel of an impossible warmth attempting to suck him in.

 

He’s stumbling out of bed before his mind catches up with his actions, paying no mind to the audible slap of his length against his stomach.

 

“What the fuck?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek should probably put some pants on, but hey, not complaining.
> 
> While you wait for the next chapter, check out [Fort Knox](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10137311) by Nour, normally this ship isn't really my cup of tea but the writing made me reconsider.
> 
> See ya next time!


End file.
